Pandora's Pavane
by RukiaRocks
Summary: In the world of toys and entertainment, a special game involves cursing children in order to test the extent of their values. In the grand society of judgement, what is truly survival? What are you willing to sacrifice for your own skin?
1. The New King's Vow

The New King's Vow

It was dark in the room on that night. The lightning would occasionally flash to illuminate the gruesome scene. How did everything come to be like this? The veil of red covered the white marble floors. Eyes were glossed over with blank stares while mouths still hung open to reflect fear once endured. The silk curtains that enveloped the columns were tainted with past anguish as the red snakes crept up their fabrics, burning into them the proof that this event was real. That it was recorded.

And the blade shook in his hands as he gazed down to admire his own heinous work. His mother's hair was so very lovely, all free and properly kept. But alas, it was golden treasures of hope, drowned in it's own fear of faith, the red sea. Her expression cursed her angelic features. That of tear stricken betrayal left its mark on her face; an appearance so breath-takingly painful that one might cry as many tears as there were blood droplets on the marble tiles. The tears on her face were serene and pure, but quickly found themselves engulfed in the poison of red. It was everywhere. On her face, lying upon her lavished clothes, covering her hands. But, of all the dear servants and all the dearly slaughtered relatives, red besmirched one entity, far more than all others, on that night.

Yes, on the ground, with her body and hair scattered like a delicately contorted and withered rose, his mother laid cradled beside another. He was not yet dead and he cried for mercy. But not for mercy from the perpetrator of his wounds. He was panting and his hands were splattered with the blood of his wife who had thrown herself in front of him. He took her pale, icy hands up in his and shivered with his last ounces of strength. It was at this moment that one might see the weakness and humility in the voice of a nobleman. It shook like his hands and quivered with the fear that his hope too would be drowned in a sea of hatred and war. He looked into his wife's half closed eyes, their pearly ellipses already glazing over. Then, he looked upon the heavens and prayed with all his might. Mercy. Mercy.

"Please," he quivered, "spare him...Spare my boy—" and then a horrid look and gasp came from his handsome features. His eyes came back to reality and he stared at the face of his killer. The sword was thrust through his heart. Yes. The merciful kill that was never asked for. The man's face wanted to voice words, but he simply laid next to his wife, another sliver of hope lost to the red sea.

The room was not illuminated with any such peaceful light. But two orbs glowed in the darkness that screamed with the hate of one's self. One, of the blue and deep ocean, speaking of what was to be the fate of such a person; despair that echoed through the darkness with such a light that could pierce the hearts of even the gods, tainting their beings with malice. The blue orb glinted with the hope that perhaps what it was viewing was a dream. Or perhaps happiness could still exist in a terrible world with events such as what was seen on this night.

The other orb contained an insignia which stamped upon its surface like the binding to a curse. The sign consisted of a pentagram that stretched to the end of a white circle. This purple orb, along with its insignia, crushed all hope of the blue orb and was a sign of definite truth within the following events. It was the orb that told only the truth. The honest eye of a god. So then, why was it present on such a being? Why was such an earnest glow so ominously sinister in this blood splattered room. Because the truth within was only of hate. The disgusting hate that eats away at the being. One could look into this orb and see the maggots of despair etching away at a soul. Nay, this figure had no soul. So perhaps he'd like to think of what was being eaten as a heart. Then what—at this moment—panged in his chest?

These orbs glinted with hideous beauty. And could it be that their horrid bodies could be the eyes of a face? Yes, the eyes glowed bright upon a face of angelic beauty; a face stained like his mother's with a look of shock and despair. It was a face with full, pink lips and rosy, flawless cheeks. The large eyes were gifted with long, graceful black eyelashes and complimented by a button nose that was adequately quaint in respect to the other elements of the face. A petite figure fit this face. It was clothed in a pure white night gown. The smooth, dark hair of the figure fell in front of his face as the sword in his father's side squirmed with a ghastly sound while it was pulled from his flesh. Beautiful alabaster skin was soiled with blood. He cast the glinting silver sword aside and brought his quivering hands to his face. Their blood covered facades left streaks down his features like the face paint of a demon.

His stomach cringed and he grabbed his white cloaked body, now no longer so pure. He felt a sticky substance as his knees buckled and dropped to meet the floor's surface. The boy looked at his mother, at his father, and closed his eyes tight, running his blue-black locks through with his fingertips. Amidst the blood, the gore, and the bodies of all he loved, a child screamed and tore his being apart as his voice vibrated through the air. His cries resonated through the estate, a single noise that masked all other screams that had been heard that night. It was excruciating, the sound from his heart, infested with hate of one's self. But his eyes would not bless him with the tears to express this extreme emotion. No. He'd murdered them all. He could not allow himself such courtesies. And there was no turning from the reality of the situation; his left eye of royal truth would insure that. A lone child shrieked for deliverance from his nightmare.

But no, I could escape no longer. No one, save my own being, was alive in this manor. I could not pretend that any other had killed them. It was me. It was all me. The scream continued until my lungs ran dry. And then, only then, did my hands splash into the sea of blood. Then, I found the ever cold blade of death amongst the sullen red and forced its silver body from the riches of its last battle.

I sat up, my night gown crawling up with red snakes of blood. My eyes finally tired and filled with emptiness. Something dripped from the surface of my eyelids as I looked toward the chandelier of the ceiling. The ballroom was so very beautiful. And I always did wish for a touch of red to be added to its black and white surface. It was ironic, almost laughable, that the ballroom looked so much lovelier. And from that, I pitied myself with tears that streamed down my face. Not for what I'd done, but for how I truly felt. Monstrous. But they were not tears of purity, my innocence was lost forevermore. They mingled and lost themselves in the blood on my face. And at the moment, a tear that had weaved through the blood dropped into the sea of red. And all was turned into a sorrowful blue. The scarlet on my face crystallized into the ocean. That's what my tears did to blood. Oh well. The room would look okay in blue too.

Heels clacked to the ground and I turned around. He was grinning as wide as the Cheshire, his cyan eyes screaming with fake and evil excitement. Wild as they were, they were also clouded with an emotion that I could not describe. It was chaos, and a complete acceptance of that craziness. Peace was a luxury that must have taken years to attain for a boy of his sin. Over his eyes were threads of gold locks that were tainted, unlike my mother's. Clothed in the most atrocious attire of mid-length shorts and black, Italian leather boots, that tall-postured body of his was practically covered in childish displays of independence. He had something effortless about his features, a mischievous adolescence that just added to the suggestion that he was an untrustworthy figure. And yet he was my partner.

"My, my, you sure made a mess!" he said, hopping over each body lying hacked apart on the ground.

When he noticed the pool of blood about me was blue, he halted in front of the doorway and accused, "Have you been crying?"

"Shut up!" I snapped. Behind me, he laughed.

"Your tattoo will stop growing for now." he informed.

"Why me?" I asked.

"Huh?"

"Why did you have to curse me?" I bowed my head down and balled my hands into fists, my right hand pressing in on the silver ring upon my thumb. The ring was adorned with the blue hope diamond. That was the source of my curse.

"You're cute." his eyes giggled at the pleasure of hopelessness seen in my eyes.

"You're not going to tell me then?" I questioned. He did not respond, confirming the sense of tension in the air. Blood ripped as the silver sword slid upright to hold my weight. The sword was the only thing that shared my burden of this night, the only thing I could possibly trust with my pain. I lifted myself to my feet.

"Your first kill; now we've both done it. Is it supposed to feel this tense, I wonder..." his heels clacked musically as kicked at the bodies I had made motionless. How long had he been doing things like this? Was he so twisted because he tried to shut everything out?

I didn't want to be that way. I didn't want anything to be like this. A crack of thunder fell with the lash of lightning. At that same moment, I swung the blade downward to where it was inches from his nose.

"And what do you plan to do with that?" he asked, frowning now, with a serious appearance.

"What's to stop me from killing you now?" I asked him.

He took his index finger and moved the blade a safe distance away from him, "Now now, I think you've gotten your fill of bloodshed for the night." The heels clacked again and struggled to dodge the sea of blood. Their expensive tips would be tainted with red soon enough. And when his shoe finally reached my blue sea, the heel swam into its ocean and suddenly the blood dissipated into clear water. Now, a single sound echoed through the estate, a water droplet falling into darkness. As the silence continued, the red was quickly overtaken and, radiating from him, all blood turned to salty water. The open plantation windows of the manor overlooked the city, where the lights were always blazing, and the faint sound of a wind-up-box melody was heard from the streets.

Again, the silver blade came to shake in my hand. The blood on my face turned all to watery tears as the boy placed both of his hands on my cheeks. Two soft, warm substances caressed my skin. Why did it seem like an eternity had passed without another human's touch? Blue and purple clashed with the intensity of cyan. A figure drew closer to another, and the two faces were close enough to catch each others scent over the ever present smell of death.

"You know, there's a little lullaby that was sung to every child in this city," he whispered.

"Silence." I replied, this story was far too repetitively painful to listen to again. But he continued with a whimsically clear and child-like voice,

"Ye precious souls, hither to, ye come,

Come to the lap of the adorned one,

let him treasure ye,

set ye upon his knee,

and rock ye 'til light becomes nigh.

'til the broken clock ticks,

'til ye bones crack like sticks.

Come to the lap of the adorned one,

Come to the lap of the king."

I found myself queasy and disgusted as the boy made effort to continue, "You were the soul child to ponder when the king would let the precious souls go fourth from his lap. Naturally, you alone became the servant of the king, would you really want to kill your master."

"I never recalled being declared your servant," I stated.

"Right you are," the boy said, his hands suddenly drawing down to my sword. And before I could do anything, he thrust the sword into his being. The lightning flashed with the sound of a dying animal, ensnared within the clutches of another. His eyes dimmed and his smile was now nostalgic and pained. His vest spread through with red blood, but his touch turned into tears. With a thud, the sea of salt water would be soon disturbed with yet another body.

They called us the Golden Touch Children. Monstrous beings who molded "God's creations" into other things, and were destined to fill the world with only misfortune and death. Yes, I was awakened to this curse by a boy who had the only consciousness that I could never enter. The only one who, as a child, had such a sporadic behavior that I could never hope to predict it; the boy whom I could never beat at chess. The rain outside the estate sprinkled on the windows, and the dark room no longer let in the noise of the sound box in the city. The boy before me was so crafty, I wondered if perhaps I was the dying, ensnared animal. But that's how ill-minded I was, thinking he had underlying intentions to his death.

I stared in horror as the boy's pained expression slipped into near death, "What are you doing?" I exclaimed.

"With my death, we might yet escape our curses." he whispered, and then a husky sound came from his lungs and bloods spilled from his lips. A smile spread across his face as his weight shifted and he fell into the sea of tears.

I dropped down to my knees and forced the blade from his center. No. No. I didn't want this.

"Do you hate me more now?" the boy asked. "Yes. Now you will become the new king."

Water dripped on his cheek and his expression lightened, "Are you crying because I'm dear to you, or are you crying because your fate now is sealed?"

I wouldn't answer, he saw it in my eyes. So he added, "Never mind, don't answer."

"Remember what we talked about?.." his voice was failing him, "You argued with me...About the importance of consistency."

Everyone in the estate was dead now. They looked as if they were all crying, and their clothes looked merely ripped as if a child had run by and accidentally torn them. But it was heart breaking to think that something like this could actually happen. That they were not crying. That they were dead. Part of me was a child stuck in the now, but another was already mature enough to turn an eye to the present. Was that maturity? I didn't know.

Silence was something I wished actually existed. The music in the city stopped, but at that moment, I heard the loudest cries of my soul. No, silence was a bliss that I didn't deserve.

"As Golden Touch Children, we awaken in pairs. The first of us to awaken becomes the master of our team, and, in exchange for becoming the leader, they live with the burden of having to awaken their partner. Together we were supposed to lift our curses...Get rid of these powers. I could never see that happening if I couldn't understand your actions." I said, my voice unnaturally steady. But then I choked a torturous laugh, "And now, you idiot, you've outsmarted me and left me behind."

His blond hair was as beautiful as ever and it glinted even brighter when wet with water. Yes, he didn't cry, even on his death bed. How broken had my partner been? How long had he waited before awakening me? His parents and family were all gone by the time I came to know I was a Child. Now that I thought about it, I had not known anything about him; nothing except what I wanted to see in him. Is that how all humans were, disgusting, judgmental things? Or was I simply not human?

"Each pair of Golden Touch Children shares the same curse; ours was to kill any and all dear to us. If not, the tattoos that radiated from our family rings would spread and kill us at the heart. If we do not find the person most dear to us by our 14th birthdays, our tattoos would kill us." he continued. For the first time I was able to understand why he wanted to hear this at his last hour. What better than our fate to describe his life? The proper words for this boy's goodbye were as twisted as the smiles always plastered on his face.

Another foreign liquid seeped from my eyes and landed on the blood of his cheek, turning it blue. But then clear. And then, confused at what shade it should be, the speck of blood evaporated into nothing. How children such as my kind would wish to be like that blood drop; if we were ever conflicted —from whatever our curses entailed— we could just disappear. Somehow it sounded so much more peaceful than survival. I promised myself I wouldn't cry. But I guess I was still a child somewhere in the back of my being.

"I'll see you shortly, partner." he grinned, "Don't cry, it makes you look ugly. And, you know, every Child can die twice. This isn't the end..." his voice failed as he tried to speak. But then he shook his head and realized what he said didn't matter. It was his fault for stabbing himself in a place where he'd bleed to death.

With his last breath, the boy reached up and traced his hand over my cheek. He smiled and whispered, "Ciel Phantomhive, you are the new king."

The thunder cracked and his body was finally reaped of motion. The white room had nothing but tears strewn through its walls. This was the boy's last touch. And when he uttered my name, I could have sworn that hell was laughing at my fate. The king of the cursed children. What a lovely parting gift. My partner was always like that, cruel and blunt.

I motioned my hand to his face and pulled my palms over his dead eyes. But I was always the merciful one. His eyes closed to offer some sort of peace. But peace never suited him.

"Sleep well, if only for the night...Alois."

And in the white room, the color red once again seeped through its quarters, with the Golden Touch of Tears now gone from this world. But alas, that single crimson puddle could not reach the curtains. It would not be recorded.

**Author's Pleasantries:**

**Well hey there one and all! This is RukiaRocks returning from an absence of almost 10 _motivating_ months of moving schools, finding friends, losing a father, and living my life away from writing. As of 2011, I have written a grand score of 0 fanfictions and have updated 0 of my stories. This fic, and Mortal Masters, are the only new fanfictions I've come out with since I entered my new school. Don't get me wrong, the people at my new school are _way_ cooler than those Christian hypocrites at my old school. :) But life's just been catching up to me recently. **

**((Concerning the single two words above that seemed to edge into the minds of a few of my readers, it is in my best interest to inform most people of my apologizes. However, I did not mean to cause any mental harm to anyone. There have been people who have so said I will "burn in hell" because I don't believe in their religion. I felt it only fitting to dub them with the religion they so proclaim and the title 'hypocrite', for does not the Bible say that the followers must be tolerant? At any rate, I was only directing the comment at those who so besmirched Christianity's name. It is by no means that I am insulting everyone that belongs to the religion(I have quite a number of friends that are Christian), but, since they felt it appropriate to bring up my beliefs in their insults, I put my foot down and did the same. For defending myself in a composed manner, I do not apologize. "Un-witty" comments must be matched with insults of the same caliber. And, as I had put up with the insults for 8 years prior to this, I believe I am entitled to burning a little steam. However, those who felt offended, I do apologize, for I did not mean to spread any hate.))**

**With my step dad's recent disappearance from my life, I have fallen out of romance and my old style of writing. For you returning readers of mine, this fanfiction will not be like any other you've read. I've changed my writing style and my preferences in terms of tone and mood. Word to the wise: Yaoi will be included in this fic(Both Cielbas and Cielois), if it continues. I have designed this chapter to stand on its own as a oneshot if the Kuroshitsuji audience does not cater toward reviewing. :) I need at least 9 reviews to continue this story.**

**That being said, you new readers might want to review if you want this story to continue. I'll love you forever if you do. **

**Yours truly,**

**~*RukiaRocks*~**


	2. The King's Jester

The King's Jester

Stitches of dark colors shrouded the room and glossy, plastic eyes stared, about them was something unseen by those empty eyes; tiles which, by design, hung flat like that of a chessboard .The walls where cracked and worn, while the floor chipped and fell lamely into the darkness. This world was fading into black, the dust on the shelves shadowing them. And this moment seemed to hold delicately, like a circus performer concentrating terribly on the tightrope. It was all so very heavy, the atmosphere of dying control. It was here that toys lived. And in this room toys with empty eyes might yet come alive, their false bodies would animate within the darkness and forever move against heedless fate, aiding time in its quest of life.

But alas, at this moment and evermore, the eyes would merely long for their hoped animation. And among the toys, the dolls wished to move the most. They sat, with dresses of satin and porcelain skin, waiting only to collect the dust. The fragile lights of the room flickered and cast shadows over their features, making them ambassadors of the night. And it was at this moment that we look upon the forgotten relics and breath into them the movement of hate. From this, dolls are given life in this village entertainment. The dolls in this room will close in on their target, ironically being the source of their motion. We see now, that self destruction of such dolls in imminent.

He was tall and strong, with such and appearance that the dolls would balk to turn to, for fear of being drowned in the grace of features that adorned his body. With sinfully clean, pale skin, his lips shown an ominous smile that might yet have any creature imagining the devil's pleasure, the scarlet bath-water of his crimson deviance and lust, splattered upon those lips as a befitting fire to the snow that was his restless skin. You could see the longing for blood in his auburn eyes, how they shot like daggers upon their targets, forever melting into them the malice that they so encountered upon his deceiving face. And his pitch black hair had come to reflect his heart—if he would have one—which had no purpose save to feed substantially vicious interests; desires for which no _human_ mightn't dream of in their wildest nightmares.

The wind-up melody even reached into a Toy Master's territory and rang within both of our ears. It appeared that he might have possessed some aversion to this tune, but now his attentions were elsewhere. The darkness had begun to eat away faster now and the stillness of our meeting was fading like a vaccinated disease. One might observe his pitch black attire, clean and simple, like a porter or otherwise employed, standing in contrast with mine own adorned, aristocratic blue coat and top hat, laced with ribbons and the like. A shadow of his cast dark over my figure, motionless before him. There was a feeling of resentment and curiosity imitating from the man and his smile shined like the sliver moon that was sure to appear tonight. On this night, the moon was upside-down and the inner world of the dolls and the Toy Master was ever deadly.

My eyes had long since stopped seeing clearly and my hands had long since stopped quivering. It was at that time that I stared at him with both unshaken eyes, my black patch—that served previously to shroud my purple truth in emptiness—ripped away, a useless article. This demon would see through, to my soul, so that he might see the maggots that festered and ate away at my heart, and that he would serve me in truth and loyalty regardless.

"You are the new King? Even younger that the last, I observed." his voice was rich and deep, like the bewitching howl of a wolf and his eyes began to glow more red as he noticed the failure of his gaze to quake my emotions.

"Does that upset you: having to take orders from yet another child?" I inquired, but the man merely grinned and offered no answer. His shadow grew deeper and more black with each pace, until finally he was but inches away from me.

It was with this act that he would decide precisely what he would do, serve yet another child King, or resign himself. But was there even a fate for this man to call his own? Indeed, it was so universally edged into his being, from the beginning of his existence, that this man was indenture, and had not destiny to call his own. With this, he might see the ruthlessness in my eyes, that which only a servant of the generations could see; the eyes of a King for whom refused to allow any to _choose_ service. And with his ever watchful eye, the demon—though without choice on the matter—bowed to the pathetic boy that laid before him. At this time, I rose before the man and saw his precarious grin was a sign of not only willingness, but interest in the service of his own new King.

"I am the Toy Master, I live to train each King in the art of doll weaponry." he informed.

"Don't you have a name?"

"No, highness." the title stung like a venomous insult; he'd know how I'd obtained this position and the fact that I did not wish to acknowledge it, yet his ever present torture hobby was—as he now made clear—to be a frequent and forever existent attribute to his service of me.

"Those who serve me must have names. If you are without a title, how might you be differentiated from any other Toy Master of any other King? Henceforth, you shall be called Sebastian and act as mine own porter."

The dolls were restless, their eyes now screaming to walk their bodies over to the King and strangle him alive so that this madness might cease to burn within them. That the dome that hung over this city of games might shatter with the death of a King, his own hate dissipating with his heart's last beat. But the skies were always glistening with a censored view of the stars, just as the citizens of the city were content to live

Their streets would light in all colors and tourists flocked into them for the happiest of dances and folk, all under the eerie watch of the King, locked away as a display model for only select viewings and chosen only by the previous ruler to be the controller of the other Children. He was the loathed of the citizens, and the overlord of the living puppets of hate. He would forever execute the will of the citizen council and wait quietly for death to take him. In that way, he and the children were inanimate and very much like the dolls of this room. But they were forced into motion and from that became a new evolution of toy: puppets. The subject of the greatest game of the city of entertainment: the children and their double-dealing King, one of their own kind, and the most shackled of all puppets in the entire scheme. The Battle Royale would come quickly and the spectators would watch as the Children battled each other with their various Touches, the winners facing their ruler. Such was the ironic fate of the King.

"A butler? How generous of you." the man laughed, "But within this dimension henceforth, I will do no serving of the kind. Your purpose is to train your doll here."

"Even the King must participate in that Battle Royale? How utterly cruel of that council, I see they still take to the tradition and seek to reduce the numbers of 'The Demon Touch Children.' Their ignorance never ceases to amuse me; new children will continue to awaken and their curses will likewise remain."

The darkness began to engulf the checkered tiles as the dolls faded into the despair. Emptiness trailed after this room and ate it away, as it did my heart. Everything dwindled in mind and body and figures began to fade into one another, as if day was at war with night. Painted on this canvas of black, the colors of the room melted and ran and the man before me became merely a dripping catastrophe. How easily it seemed to be that everything in life could be so very ruined, that the painting could no longer resemble the photograph.

"You say this, but your heart is indifferent. Tell me, has your curse defeated you?" he asked, ever faithful to the subtle smile that dwindled with his appearance in the room. We were returning back to palace, where I had inhabited for the previous night in nightmares of my first and only kills.

That time had taken everything: my life, my innocence, my soul. But, though nothing remained from the furious flames of my curse, I could neither turn back time nor wish for it to move once more. Often times I would think of nothing but my curse: whom. It had reaped me of it all and, though an empty shell, I darned not ever fall into the daunting bliss of surrender. I had killed. However, it was not by my will. I still deserved to die. For now, life was not mine to keep, but neither was it for my curse to steal.

"I will not submit to my curse, and when a year passes and I am of 14 years, the curse will not take my life! I don't care for rules. I don't care for who or what I am in society. I will die, but not by the hands of my curse. And if that means taking down the likes of those god forsaken bastards that made me this monster, then I will do it without fail! You are, henceforth, training with me to _achieve_ without difficulty, and without fail!"

That smile was as eerie as the ever present melody from the streets of the city, it spread wide and satisfied, deadly and lovely in the single action. An entity that so committed such the sin was truly not to be declared of this world. Or of humanity. But it made me precisely wonder who I was to judge what was human. Things were all at once so very hard to understand and the paths that others had made for me where so grown up that I might have made more haste to take my own path, but I did not fail to believe in what my broken and twisted heart believed—that much of humanity I held onto. And the path on hot coals was one which I would brave, as a hollow of a being, and emerge as a product of survival.

"You are my Joker Card. And what is your name?" We could neither see each other, nor predict how long our voices would hold before the infinite emptiness no longer held sound waves. The demon was making his place inside my mind and preparing at once to eat me from the inside out; but my pitch-black heart would not be corrupted or purified, something Alois had known well. And another handicap would yet still not hold me down.

Yet his voice was clear like the ominously bewitching howl of a wolf, "Sebastian, my lord."

And his lips spoke a title for which graced his master with the legitimacy of his rein and the acknowledgment of the childish wishes which he so desired the mistaken silhouette of a fairy to grant. Nevermore would I be called as _Royalty._

And as we returned to the Phantomhive Manor, that was now the palace of the King, Sebastian made his leave to prepare my afternoon tea. The demon in service of the King of the City, would he fair well as a butler? And it was a valid and intriguing question to ask indeed.

It pained me to wonder how the sun could exist. As I walked toward my study, its light still mocked me and demanded pain to return; and with it, the memories of everything that I'd lost. A pang in my chest rang greater than any sting my tattoo had ever inflicted and a lone sign of humanity sparked from the pain; a fact I did not want to acknowledge, a fact that made me weak.

But within my study, the feeling in my chest was undeniable when my eyes gazed upon that which I had ceased, sitting precariously on top of the dark mahogany desk. His eyes were sparkling and his smile was light with the relief of freedom. Carelessly, the boy brushed his golden locks from his eyes and poked a slice of cake into his haunting lips. At the time when his eyes finally met mine, his heels clacked to the ground in a nostalgic resonance with the home of death. He was solid within the room, reminding me that I had indeed ended lives in the estate—his included. For his cold fingertips were reaped of blood as he traced his hand over my cheek, in the same place where it had once touched with the words he had so carefully picked to be his last.

"You're shocked, right? 'Didn't think I was telling the truth when I said all Children die twice..." His tongue slid along his lips. Elaboration continued as I felt myself still at a loss for words.

"The first of a Child Pair returns to life once more until their partner dies as well. It's the incentive the lead partners get for awakening another child, otherwise most of us would refuse to do it."

I felt as though the greatest handicap upon my spirit was my own guilt. Or perhaps it was that my resolve was not quite as concrete as I'd originally hoped. For now, I gazed at Alois and felt hopeful for the times we had spent with my family, running rapidly through the gardens as if we were angels that could fly. Alois, the one all the other adults talked about, the one they said should've have gotten any of his dead family's money. They had said he was a boy of those fairytales, with a "Golden Touch."

All of the memories, all of the regrets and the laughs and the smiles boiled down to the most naive of human emotion: hope for the past. But the gears of my heart were rusted into a pain: that time would never return and that whatever future was left for me was worse than the present. And so it was not guilt, but the most potent and horrid of emotions. It was not hate, it was not lust, nor greed, wrath, gluttony, sloth—no Pandora could ever compose a ballad to match this Sinful melody: Longing.

He was a conniving creature and always saught the things in his own best interest. And, although he was true to himself, one could never trust him and expect to understand him in the least; he was alone in the world, but not without his attempt at dragging others down with him. There were those who, like me, had known his nature and, somehow, always tried to find the best in him.

Though, as time passed, I saw that he only treated me with civilized behavior—everyone else he'd shut out. Essentially, the boy might have sealed his fate and made sure to never find his dearest; but I was sharp enough to suppose that perhaps I had been his dearest. And then, by some design, he could not end me, cursing upon me the assistance of his sucide. Our curse would kill us by 14, but, if he could take all others' lives but his dearest, he would—at the very least—kill himself before his curse would.

He licked his fingers and began to walk out of the study as he commented, "That new butler of yours makes nice cake, but you know what will happen if he's too _sweet_ with you." he twirled about and motioned his hands across his throat with the added sound of a choke. The boy laughed out loud, but then stood still, his voice suddenly becoming stern and serious, "No one touches what's mine."

The boy a devil of a twisted soul with such a logic that would disturb any and all hearts he interacted with and shake them to the point of manipulation and self-demoralization. He was a deceiving creature, one I could never hold anything in common with. But in turn, I was the only heart he could not defile. And the two of us would always be souls bound together, too disturbed for even time to touch. And it seemed, with time, that the future of he and I were forever shrouded in death and it was fate—one would say—for us to play an unfair game.

"You're going to do it, aren't you?" Alois asked, I only nodded in reply. And although he could not see me and I him, he knew my reply and smiled, and I, in turn, knew he was smiling.

Eventually, there was a certain atmosphere that loomed over the manor—or rather—"Palace." Alois had taken to the bed at which was farthest from the east side of the estate, notably where the servants' chamber was housed. Likewise, though he preformed his duties as well as any life-long servant of a King would, Sebastian appeared to never quite find himself accustomed to Alois's nature. And then, on the third day—when the early morning dew scattered like diamonds over the grass, preparing for the sun to come, and the city of entertainment still had its lanterns on late in the night, outshining the stars—Sebastian called Alois and I forth into the world of the Toy Master.

The marble floor was yet to look any less unstable than it originally had been, falling into blackness while the walls eroded to a dead sky. Alois fiddled with his new boots from the day's earlier shopping, while he continuously eyeballed Sebastian competitively. But he soon postponed his endeavors when he looked upon the toys of the room. Left and right, dolls of the most delicate and intricate designs were before us, their eyes glossy and black. Uniformly, they all sat appearing innocent and pretty, but their porcelain beings were hollow, eyes only existent to look at hate upon those that could move. This room in the Toy Master's world was painted in the most evil of auras, and screamed with the presence of pain, as if suggesting the dolls, the Golden Touch Children, hell, even the King, would always be stained in red.

"Today you both will find your Doll, the centerpiece which will fight in your place during this year's Battle Royale." Sebastian explained, "The task is simple: choose a Doll and become its master by conquering their hatred."

Alois and I considered the toys of wrath before us. But we were both thinking the same thing: Once more, we'd have to venture into that abyss where only death will triumph from the rubble. That place what forever our hell to experience—it was the city's twisted game that brought us all of our misfortune. Red crept up the edges of our humanity and sank its poison fangs into Alois's neck first. He had become King by winning the Battle Royale for us the previous year. And now, as always, only the King can emerge from the abyss of the game.

"The citizens truly due have twisted mind. Here they have two boys—one a ghost—whom they refuse to even give the slightest experience of a child's proper life. And yet, they insist on reminding us of the innocence they stole..." Alois scowled.

"Indeed. If there's one thing we can agree upon, it's how ironic it is that the game is the highlight of our lives, pushing us in a world called _Neverland_." But our eyes remained as determined as a storm's wrath. The predicament before us was always part of our souls, it tortured us and found no heed for mercy.

We would push back the fate that weighed upon us once more. If our curses did not kill us, then the bite of the city's blood-thirst would be sure to claim us this time. It seemed like eternity would pass before Alois and I would ever find ourselves untethered to unfortunate circumstance; it was as if childhood had mistakenly skipped passed The Golden Touch Children. We were dead inside, leaving the shell with twisted powers to reflect their hearts; from a color-changing ability to a deadly skin-corrosion Touch. In the game there were no rules and your Doll and Touch were everything. And because, this year, we only had my Touch to fight with, we might lose our rein.

We were forever puppets, coiled within the arms of the master; shackled in chains of curses and death, callusing out souls to half-broken monsters they had become. And as toys we sat on the shelf, waiting for our hate to build and for our porcelain bodies to animate and exact revenge on our creator, whom only left us to the agony of collecting dust and memories. Together, my fellow puppeteer had returned; and with their death we might shatter as well, the call of checkmate finally graced as Lady Grave would sweep over both the dolls and their master.

**Author's Pleasantries: **

**Wow, the Author's Pleasantries makes me hungry...Pleasantries looks like Pastries *droolz* I want me some~~ Hehe, I would absolutely love something to eat at this time of night, considering I had no dinner, but, at any rate, I guess I'll just have to have a virtual cookie. **

**Speaking of which, all of you who reviewed get a virtual cookie! *Throws cookies into everyone's Emo Corners* Thank you so much for reviewing everyone! I got 12 reviews, 4 over my minimum! *sighs with warmth* I love the Kuroshitsuji audience. The story-audience ratio for this series is pretty low, but I got a HUGE return from you guys, as big as my regular stories for Bleach. *Glomps everyone* Arigatou!~**

**Well, now that my thank-yous are out of the way, I'd like to formally say gomen for all of my procrastination and such that led me to be almost a month off my original second chapter release date. ..Well, that is to say, I was very dedicated to finishing this chapter, but it always turned out icky on the drafts. As you know, this archaic style of writing isn't the usual for me. I can do it, as long as I remain in 3rd person(my default writing in 3rd is archaic -_- blame it on my overdose of Hawthorn), like half of the first chapter was, but it was more difficult for me to write archaically in 1st person, considering all my main characters are normally females who tend to rant about their emotions and what they observe is "their take" on a person rather than the almost-omniscient Ciel who's freakishly accurate with all his readings of people, and almost so symbolic that I'd barf up my virtual cookie thinking about the mature style(==which then makes her think of the word mature, which then leads to her thinking about other stuff o/o). **

**I rewrote this chapter a total of three times, each draft remarkably different from the last. **

**Special: How I Wrote Everything: my ordeals, yaoi overdoses, and obsessions**

**The first draft was around 15 or 20 pages and was all about THEM, the people I had created who gave the King orders. THEY, were disliked by Ciel and so, after a 7 paged long conversation between him and Alois(plus, a strange moment where Alois dresses Ciel), they head out to start their plans. It ends up being that he gets all the Children together(which, in this draft, do not live in just the City of entertainment, but all over the world) and ask them to help Ciel bring down THEM. Ciel comments that Alois must have died because of his age(14, though he does not admit that he actually killed Alois) at that it was a shame that Alois didn't find the one dearest to him. Later that night, Alois had a weird bipolar moment and attempted to rape Ciel(yes, a boy trying to rape a boy...Oh nose!(bleed, haha, couldn't help myself)), which resulted in his whispering to Ciel and admitting that he did find that which was dearest to him, but he just couldn't kill it. And that dearest thing was Ciel(something I mirrored in this chapter because I thought it was clever)...But then they both stopped talking as they noticed something outside, watching them...A man!(Sebby, who apparently, in my eyes, had a weird fetish for stalking shota's on top of each other .)**

**Why I didn't like it?: Well I didn't think it would cater to the same audience that I'm writing for now, and I didn't think that 20 pages was good enough for a chapter with a plot line THAT BIG. The more that happens, the more writing, that's why the current chapter ended up being so small. Because, if I just added on more thing to the plot line, 3k words would just turn into 6k words and so on. **

**The second rewrite had a lot of pages just taken out of the first draft and copied into the next..The only thing that changed was that Alois, after taking 7 pages to dress Ciel(Again, lol), gives Ciel a message from THEM, much making Alois a messenger. The message had a rhyming poem in it about a guy whose Golden Touch was to be able to play a fiddle that charmed kids into killing themselves. It was his fate to kill them all, but he didn't want to; subsequently, he sent a poem out that said all of the latter and adding the additional comment that he wanted to be killed from something other than his curse, because he didn't want to kill any other children, but...well, you see the Catch 22, right? At any rate, since the recent King had died of suicide(ahem, Alois), THEY were packing down on security. And it became Ciel's job to stop this man from dying of anything other than his curse.**

**Why I didn't like it?: Honestly it seemed to bland for my taste. All very slow, and the writing style still wasn't perfected. However, before I wrote the chapter above, I was thinking of going with this one and giving it some serious edits. I edited it about 6 times before I decided, finally, to kill this idea and do a THIRD rewrite, which I've never done before.**

**And so, with this rewrite, I kept nothing from any of my other drafts and overdosed on re-reads of Edgar Allan Poe, Black Butler, the Vocaloid song, _Joker _performed in a duet by Miku and Mikuo, _Therapy _by All Time Low, _Mad World_ by Gary Jules, and _I Write Sins not Tragedies_ by Panic at the Disco!...That gave me some serious craze and this finally plopped out, already archaic and manageable. . Unfortunately it was only 2.2k when it was typed up, so I added in like 4 BS paragraph about morals and the heart and describing places and all that other blah~, bringing it up to like 3.1k, which is really low considering my normal chapters are 10k +, but honestly I felt like the chapters in this story will say enough with little length. :P One thing I learned from reading Hawthorn is that, the longer chapters you have, the more you tend to hate archaic writing because it drags on FOREVER. Haha, Hawthorn is the only writer I've fallen asleep to(my dad was reading it to me and my brother, and when he saw me asleep he shut the book and walked away...It was a passage from _The House of The Seven Gables_, I dare you to finish it. Actually a fun fact is that Hawthorn liked the latter more than the famous _Scarlet Letter_. I must say, the _Scarlet Letter_ was more fast paced and entertaining that The Seven Gables, But I learned A TON from The Seven Gables, and it was better written, in my opinion.). **

**Why did I cut THEM?: Well, because of the last chapter's reply to those two words in the other pleasantries, I felt like people are sensitive to the topic of Religion and might pick up on some symbolism that I didn't mean like...THEM resembling God or something and Ciel killing God...I don't know. But all I knew is that I seriously got pelted with some flames by you guys for that, and I wrote a reply to it on the last chapter(I updated it), and I tried to be as careful as I could with the explanation because a lot of you seemed to take the statement the wrong way. Anyways, I also cut THEM because I thought being more elusive with who's to blame for Ciel's curse will give me more freedom come time for me to actually decide who or what it is and what the circumstances for his discovery will be. :P I was actually weighing on this being a oneshot, as you can see, and I haven't planned much out.**

**At any rate, I had a crazy time with this chapter. Sorry for the late update and for my seemingly-prejudice words in the last Pleasantries. But, once again, I only mean to spread the entertainment:). Have sweet(?) dreams tonight, and enjoy the virtual cookies!**

**Love ya,**

**~*RukiaRocks*~**


End file.
